What I Want
by WeAretheStarlight
Summary: A heartless Stiles Stilinski finds himself hopelessly attracted to innocent Isaac Lahey and proceeds to pursue him relentlessly. Isaac rejects Stiles' advances, but Stiles is always one to get what he wants. AU. No wolves. Slow burn. Badboy!Stiles.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.**

**A/N: Hey guys! I've been wanting to write this for a while now. I wanted to try something different...I enjoyed writing this so much! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!**

Stiles rolls his eyes at the blubbering on the other end of the phone and sinks his body into the battered cushions of the couch. He studies his nails with a lack of interest, his sneakered feet propped up on the small oak coffee table in his apartment. He knows that this is all his fault, and that he should have been more careful. He knows that this won't be the last crying phone call to grace his ears, but he can't help it. This has happened way too many times for Stiles to count; he is totally immune to the string of curses and questions.

"So...What do you want _me_ to do?" Stiles tries to stifle an irritated sigh. He bites at one of his nails while he waits for the person on the other end to regain their composure enough to form an actual word.

"...I-I can't believe you would do this to me...you...you...bastard!" The voice on the other end of the phone whimpers, cracking with emotion.

"Uh-huh."

"...Is that all you have to say...St-Stiles? Really? 'Uh-huh'? All I have done for you..."

_God, so fucking dramatic_! Stiles closes his eyes and gets comfortable on the couch, knowing he'd be there for a while. He has half a mind to hang up the phone, and half a mind to throw it across the room, but he does neither. He feels a kind of...pleasure knowing that tears are falling because of him, and that's what compels him to keep listening.

"Stiles! Stiles, a-are you there? I-If you hung up on m-me, I swear—"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here." Stiles grumbles, running a hand through his hair, "What? Do you want some kind of award? A cookie? Look, you knew what you were getting yourself into..."

"I JUST WANT YOU!" The voice shrieks, and Stiles takes the phone away from his ear, "I WANT YOUR LOVE! I WANT TO BE YOURS! JUST TAKE ME...I'll do anything..."

Stiles lets out a low chuckle into the phone. This is getting ridiculous. "I'm not that kind of guy. Sorry."

"What's wrong with me? Why don't you want me? Was I not enough?" The voice shoots even more questions at Stiles, and Stiles suddenly feels as if he's being interrogated by his father.

_You were enough_..._For the moment_. A smirk makes its way onto Stiles' face.

Ever since Stiles had graduated from high school and came out to his father, he had been sleeping around with guy after guy. The reason for this, he claims, is because commitments and labels tie his "free spirit" down and stop him from enjoying life. In actuality, he's fickle when it comes to his love life. Stiles, now twenty-one, is afraid he will never find the right guy to fit his standards. It is this fear that causes him to seek out guys to analyze and compare to his mental checklist. When the guy isn't up to his standards, Stiles becomes physically and emotionally distant, and because of his low attention span and constant need to search for The One, he has cheated in every single relationship he has ever been in. That's why he receives phone calls from desperate, crying guys who wonder why they have been replaced so suddenly.

"Aaron. Please." Stiles says over the rambling in his ear, exhaling graciously when it stops, "I—"

"Want to take me back? Oh, I knew it!" The voice, Aaron, practically squeals on the other end, "I'll be right over—"

"No." Stiles' voice is firm but cold.

"Wait...What?"

"No. N-O? The opposite of yes? The thing you say when you don't want something?" Stiles facepalms when Aaron begins wailing again.

"We were...inseparable those first few months! Then you cheat on me with the waiter from my favorite restaurant...And now I don't exist to you?! What the hell was that, Stiles?! Where's that waiter, huh? I bet he's sitting right next to you..."

The waiter. Stiles grimaces at the memory of the super-serious boy about his age who loved to prove how smart he was and had a temper that flared up at almost everything. His only redeemable qualities were his great sense of humor and his perfect, tight ass. It's been two weeks since the waiter, and Stiles hasn't found another guy. It's been two weeks that Stiles has been single, the longest he has been in a while.

"You know...There's a saying for this that I can't put my finger on..." Stiles pretends to think of something as he listens to Aaron's ragged breathing on the other end, "Oh! 'Life isn't fair'? I think that's it!"

Aaron mutters something under his breath, and Stiles mentally pats himself on the back. Sarcasm for the win.

"Tell that waiter that he better look out. Because when I find him—"

Stiles ends the phone call, cutting off Aaron's rant, and yawns. Back to square one. The search for The One begins yet again. "Well...that's one way to spend a day off from work." He had wanted to spend his day away from his crappy advertising intern job watching TV and stuffing his face with the curly fries planned to buy from the Tate's Po-Tate-oes fast food restaurant a block away. But instead he throws his phone onto the cushion beside him, buries his head in his hands, and contemplates the odds of finding a new candidate for The One.

_Stiles Stilinski_: _Forever alone_. Stiles thinks bitterly before he heads into the kitchen, rummages through his freezer, and heats up some frozen chicken nuggets in the microwave.

Life isn't fair, all right.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A huge thank you to all who have followed and favorited this story so far! I wasn't expecting it! :) Enjoy! Warning: This chapter contains scenes of abuse.**

* * *

><p><em>Peanut butter...peanut...butter...Ah, here it is. <em>Isaac sets the last jar of peanut butter on a shelf along with the others and makes sure that the label is facing forward and looks presentable enough. He then folds down the now-empty shipping box, and takes it to the back of the store.

Isaac works the late-night shift at the 24-hour grocery store named Wolf's Pack...of Food as a stock clerk with Erica and Boyd, where he unloads boxes of food from trucks, cuts them open, and restocks the shelves with their contents. He is grateful for the job's flexible hours and clean, large, open spaces. And the fact that he gets to wear thick worker's gloves; years of abuse from his father has left him extremely claustrophobic and germaphobic. When those memories come back, he feels...Disgusting. Incompetent.

Incompetent. Even after his father had died, Isaac is still under his influence, and he hates it more than anything. He hates the fact that he is constantly on edge and stressed out. He hates having to avoid social situations, and small spaces, and germs, and...The nightmares. The nightmares were the worst. They'd attack him at random—briefly—but then they'd haunt his mind for weeks, distracting him from life itself-

There is a loud crash.

Isaac ducks immediately, cowering against the wall of the dim room full of storage boxes, and suddenly sees the walls of the freezer his father used to lock him in surrounding him. Moving closer and closer. Flattening him. Isaac gasps for air, tears forming in his eyes. He shivers and hugs himself for warmth as he whimpers in desperation.

"SHIT!" Erica screams from somewhere nearby. "Shit...Shit..._Shit_!"

Isaac hears footsteps racing against tile and then Boyd says: "Erica. You okay?"

Erica's response is bitter, sarcastic. "Yeah. Totally. Fantastic. I'm _way _too beautiful for this job."

Boyd sighs. "...Let's look for Isaac."

"Isaac...Oh my God...He's probably..." Erica begins to panic, "Isaac! Isaac!" She runs through the store with Boyd close behind her.

"Isaac!"

Isaac claws at the storage room wall at the sound of his name in an attempt to escape the freezer he believes he's trapped in. He feels a mixture of lightheadedness and nausea. His heart beats so quickly he can't feel it. A cold sweat drips from his skin.

"Isaac!"

If it wasn't for the gloves Isaac was wearing, he was positive his fingers would be bleeding. In his mind, his father is walking down the basement stairs after hours of leaving him in the freezer. His father's steps are slow and taunting; he's ready to rip Isaac from the freezer and beat him, attacking him with a flurry of kicks and punches.

_"Isaac!"_ Isaac could hear his father's voice, _"Isaac, you bitch! Why can't you be like your brother, huh? All I ask of you is to go to school and get good grades! But you come in here and tell me that you're _failing _a fucking class?!"_

"Isaac..." Erica is standing beside Isaac now, "Isaac, it's okay. It's just me and Boyd." She watches Isaac claw at the wall and wishes she could make Isaac stop. But Isaac doesn't like to be touched. "I accidentally dropped a box...It was too heavy and I shouldn't have...I'm sorry I scared you."

Isaac's arms wrap around himself again. "I-I wasn't scared." He hisses through clenched teeth, sounding more like an eight-year-old than the twenty-one-year-old he was supposed to be. "I wasn't." He sees Boyd and Erica exchange glances, and there is nothing more embarrassing than what he's feeling at the moment.

"Okay." Erica didn't sound convinced of Isaac's claim, "But you look like you had a long day. I'll take you home?"

Isaac shakes his head and manages a weak smile. "I'm fine." He and Erica share a small apartment near the store. Erica is a great roommate as she cares about Isaac's well-being and offers total support...except when she takes too long in the bathroom. Or steals the TV remote. And the last slice of pizza. And makes Isaac paint her nails.

"Okay." Was all Erica could say.

Boyd nods.

_Just let me be strong for once_. Isaac tries to stop shaking, to take his arms away from his body, but he can't. He still feels the chill of the freezer.

"We're here for you." Boyd speaks up. He reaches out to put a hand on Isaac's shoulder, but Isaac flinches and steps back. "Sorry."

Isaac stares at the floor, ashamed of his inability to take a reassuring hand on the shoulder.

"...Come on. Let's get back to work. Derek or Peter yelling at us is the last thing we need." Erica whispers.

Isaac walks over and picks up a full box of food before heading back out to the aisles.

Getting back to work never felt so good.


End file.
